


A Climate of Competitive Egoism

by fourfreedoms



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Broning, Kissing, M/M, Rookies, getting good wood, pretending not to be into it, serious idiots, sex competitions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 11:12:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1980756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourfreedoms/pseuds/fourfreedoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I am telling you that I can get a girl on the fence about coming home with me to agree after I’ve kissed her. I am a fucking master.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“You are so full of shit,” Jonny says, rubbing at his forehead. </i>
</p><p>Sometimes you just need these ego-defense mechanisms to justify making out with your teammate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Climate of Competitive Egoism

**Author's Note:**

> I demand makeouts from everybody. Kissing is the best. I could write like 10,000 words of kissing. But that might be boring, SO, have this completely ridiculous plot to make it interesting. Once again, this was originally posted on tumblr, so forgive me if it's not at its most polished best.

Jonny likes road games in Canada, because the guys actually let him and Kaner tag along when they go out. Getting banished back to the hotel room like grade schoolers and chirping them about bed time got old really fast. Tonight there is beer, not as much beer as he would like to ingest, because for some reason it's hitting him like he just downed a tub of Everclear. He likes to believe he’s got good tolerance, he could certainly drink Kaner under the table, thank you very much, but his two beers are taking a toll tonight. He blames exhaustion. He and Kaner have been logging more and more ice time, which has been totally amazing, but they're still getting used to the pace of so many minutes. They beat the Canucks tonight, but they had to fight tooth and nail to do it, by the end Jonny was pretty gassed. Alcohol had seemed like an excellent plan. But now, taking a leak, he realizes he's spent nearly an entire minute staring at the tile above the urinal, brain blank, long after he finished pissing. It's kind of a bummer, but realistically, it's time to go home and go to bed. 

The guys took over a table that opened up in the back while he was in the bathroom. He notes that there are a couple of faces missing--either they’re hooking up, or they’re working on it--but Kaner, Sharpy, and Bur are still sitting in the booth, a cluster of empty bottles sitting on the table in front of them. 

“You’ve got no clue, man, this was out of this world,” Bur says to Kaner as Jonny walks up, “not any of that sweet holding hands making out crap that you get up to with the ladies.”

“Fuck you,” Kaner replies, shoving at Bur’s shoulder. 

Bur laughs. "You'll get there some day." 

"Oh, come on," Kaner thumps his beer bottle down on the table. “I’m aces at making out. Don’t knock that shit.”

Sharpy put his head in his hands where neither Bur nor Kaner can see it. Jonny laughs at the defeated expression on his face. He doesn't even want to know what Bur was talking about doing to his lady. Some nasty shit, probably. 

Kaner turns to look at him, eyebrows raised. “You doubting my skills?”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Jonny replies, trying for dry, but not sure if he manages it. He clears his throat. “Listen, I’m beat, I’m heading back, see you guys in the morning.”

Bur shakes his head and grins. “Baby boy needs bedtime.”

Jonny doesn’t rise to the bait, he just shrugs. “Whatever, man.”

Kaner leans back, raising his arms up above his head to crack his back. “Yeah, I’m out too.” He yawns hugely and then nods at Jonny. “You ready to go now?”

Jonny shrugs again. Obviously. He was the one who came over to say goodbye after all. But whatever. For a first born kid, Kaner has terrible only child syndrome. 

It’s a nice night. "You wanna walk?" Kaner asks. 

Jonny blows out a breath. The few blocks seems like an interminable distance. "No, I really am beat, I'll pay for the cab." 

"Oh, gee, like that was really an issue," Kaner replies, shoving at his shoulder, but he steps into traffic to hail the first cab that passes.

On the way back to the hotel, Jonny’s head feels cotton-stuffed, stupid thoughts running through it at a snail’s pace. He rests his head against the cool glass of the window and processes the way the world is sort of drunkenly teetering around him. Fuck, this is really pathetic. He laughs at himself.

"What?" Kaner asks. 

"Nothing," Jonny replies. Kaner gives him a look. He hates it when Jonny does that. That and 'nevermind' are like the two worst things to say to him, because he simply will. not. let. it. go. Tried and true, he makes a face at Jonny and then resumes looking out the window. 

Back at their hotel, Jonny follows Kaner back to their room on autopilot. A bed sounds heavenly right now. He knocks over everything on his nightstand when he goes to take off his watch. He looks up to see if Kaner's noticed, but he's busy getting his own shit together. It takes actual effort to change into his pajamas and brush his teeth through the alcohol-sodden haze. The room still spins, not altogether unpleasantly, and he’s just contemplating how good it’s going to feel to get his head on that pillow when Kaner says something.

Jonny looks at him blankly. “Huh?”

“I said,” Kaner replies snottily, “I really am good at it.”

“What? Kissing?” Jonny replies, slumping down onto his mattress. At least he assumes that's what Kaner is talking about. He just wants to be horizontal and he can barely think straight, but he’s nothing if not a master of sarcasm. “I’m sure that’s true. Can you turn the light out?”

Kaner shoots him a dismissive look as he pushes his covers back. “I could destroy you.”

“Settle down, Sparky,” Jonny tells him, yawning around it. “What, do you have, like, empirical knowledge of this?”

Kaner shrugs and grins. “I know what I know.” He flicks his tongue out in an obscene move that makes Jonny think of eating pussy, but not making out. Well, he guesses those could be considered congruent skills. 

“Right,” he replies, blowing out a breath. “And who exactly told you this, some fifteen year old you played seven minutes in heaven with, way back when?”

Kaner shakes his head. “I am telling you that I can get a girl on the fence about coming home with me to reconsider after I’ve kissed her. I am a fucking master.”

“You are so full of shit,” Jonny says, rubbing at his forehead, unsure why he's even entertaining this argument. 

“Try me,” Kaner shoots back. “I could melt your brain.”

“I’m not gonna kiss you, loser,” Jonny replies, rolling onto his back with a sigh. He doesn’t understand why this is such a fucking big deal. Kaner has no game, if they could all admit that and go to bed that would be really great.

Kaner lifts his chin with a smirk. “That sounds like you’re admitting I’m right.”

“What? Jesus christ, Kaner.” Jonny looks at the ceiling. This is so fucking dumb. 

“You’re worried. It’s cool, I understand,” Kaner replies. “I could totally get your dick hard.”

Jonny turns his head to stare at him in open challenge. “You? Never.”

“Am I making you nervous, Tazer?” Kaner says, full of condescension.

“Oh, fuck off,” Jonny replies, losing his patience. Sometimes Kaner’s bullshit makes him want to punch him, and if he thinks he’s gonna gay-chicken out over a stupid fucking bluff, he’s got another thing coming. “C’mon and do it then.”

Kaner’s taken aback. It's written clearly all over his face, like he never expected Jonny to call the bluff. Jonny laughs at his stunned expression and is just opening his mouth to say ‘you’re all talk,’ when Kaner pushes himself up from his own bed and crosses to Jonny’s. Without hesitation he slings his legs up to bracket Jonny's hips. He settles his weight down way more heavily than necessary. 

“Ooof. What are you doing?” Jonny asks, staring up at him and wondering what the hell happened. This is not his life. He is not lying in a bed with Kaner sitting on his lap. Well, just above it actually. Kaner’s clearly not secure enough for that one. Jonny vaguely considers lifting his hips. Like he'd be man enough to take Jonny's dick against his ass without freaking out. Little shit. 

“Winning,” Kaner replies with a smirk and then dips down, framing Jonny’s face with his hands. “Last chance to call it, asshole,” he whispers.

“Fuck you,” Jonny replies. As if Kaner’s stupid schoolyard fumbling would get anybody off. 

Kaner clicks his tongue and then closes the gap, lightly brushing their lips together.

“That’s it? That’s what you’ve got?” Jonny says, incredulous when Kaner lifts his mouth.

“Shut the fuck up, Jonny,” Kaner whispers harshly before pressing his thumb to the corner of Jonny’s mouth and angling his head so Kaner can lay another one on him. 

It’s. It is--okay, fine, it’s a good kiss. Jonny’s not some makeout king like Kaner’s claiming to be or whatever, but he’s made out with more than a few girls, and most of the time it was just a sloppy meeting of mouths.

This is not sloppy. Kaner hasn’t even introduced his tongue yet, not really. It’s just the barest wet flicker on Jonny’s lower lip, a tease. Jonny parts them, unconscious and involuntary, and Kaner finally dips his tongue inside, stroking just along the smooth flesh of his inner lip. It’s a pretty smooth move. And also a little uncomfortable, Jonny’s not really used to being manhandled like this--Kaner using his hands to hold Jonny where he wants him, long fingers tracing over his jaw, tilting his chin higher. Jonny shifts and Kaner follows the motion, gentle, like he’ll break, and just when Jonny’s about to tear his mouth away and chirp him for all of the twilight reading tweens who like this shit, Kaner bites at his lower lip.

Jonny jerks and inhales underneath him, and Kaner makes this rumbling sound in the back of his throat, swallowing it up, tonguing along the abused curve of his mouth. His tongue finds the scar that slashes through Jonny’s top lip, tracing over it with just the tip, barely any pressure. Jonny clenches his fists into the sheets. It’s probably just beer and lack of good rest, but his heart pounds hard in his chest, dizzy with adrenaline. He moves, trying to better accommodate Kaner’s weight, fighting against the urge to bring his hands up to Kaner’s hips to just move him where he wants him. If this was a girl, Jonny would’ve done it by now, slid deliberately soft palms over her ass, drawing her in tight, to just the right place, on top of his cock.

The sounds of their mouths meshing, something he’s never paid attention to, the slick click of lips meeting--it's like something out of porn. Filthy. And when Kaner starts fucking his mouth with his tongue, Jonny opens himself up to it, lets him do it. He digs trembling fingers harder into the sheets. 

Kaner kisses him until his mouth goes numb, until each breath is shaky and full of effort, and then finally he pulls away, slow and tender, noses brushing, like he doesn't want to stop. After an interminable-seeming weight paused, he sits upright. If he's trying to put distance between them, it's not working. Jonny’s breaths sound loud to his own ears and he has to fight to hold Kaner’s gaze, rather than to just shut his eyes tight and arch up into his weight. It's completely moronic. After all, it’s not like this shit fucking affected him or anything. Except for god--it really did. He’s so hard he’s lightheaded, looking up at Kaner’s glassy eyes and red cheeks, his swollen obscene mouth and the familiar smirk that’s starting to curl up in the corner.

“So?” he says, drawing his thumb over his lower lip. It bizarrely reminds Jonny of holstering a gun. "Witness, bitch." 

Well. That brings him back to reality really quick. Jonny growls in his throat and quickly twists his hips, dumping Kaner off the bed. “It’ll do.”

Kaner laughs, lying on the shitty carpet, long and hard. “Play with the bull, you get the horns,” he says, before standing up and going back to his own bed.

"Shut the fuck up." Jonny rolls over and pulls the pillow over his head, leaving Kaner to shut off the light.

That’s not the end of it of course. Kaner doesn’t let it go. Of course he doesn’t let it go. Was Jonny expecting miracles here? He doesn’t bring it up in front of the guys. He couldn’t, not without implicating himself, but it’s in every sly remark every time they go out. Again and again it happens, these oblique references to 'that time' when Jonny pussied out and wouldn't own up to the win. 

Finally, after they slaughter Phoenix, but Jonny personally had a shitty game, he breaks. 

Kaner brings it up when they're back in the hotel room, talking about teaching Jonny some tricks, and it's just one time too many. 

“Whatever, like you wouldn’t be totally easy for me,” he finds himself saying, as he unknots his tie with abrupt fingers, staving off the inevitable bit where Kaner goes on and on about how Kaner totally got him hard that one time, he just too butthurt to admit it.

“Hey, but I’m easy for everybody,” Kaner replies with a laugh.

“You’d beg me,” Jonny says, firm, holding his gaze.

Kaner laughs. “You’re delusional.”

The thing is, Jonny can’t kiss like Kaner can. He has no clue, kissing--he liked kissing fine, but he’d never exactly put a ton of thought of it. But he’s has other ways. Half of getting girls into bed has involved touching them just so. And he knows to play to his strengths.

Kaner’s down to his boxers, folding his clothes messily into the bureau, and Jonny’s still got most of his suit on when he walks up behind him, hands going to his hips. Kaner tenses up against him. Jonny gets it, pictures giving his back up to some guy like this, and the only person he can imagine--well of course it’s Kaner, he’s had the dude’s tongue in his mouth. Kaner pushes at Jonny’s hands, like he’s contemplating bolting. Jonny presses in closer, skimming his nose over Kaner’s smooth shoulder. The thin skin just above the waistband of Kaner's boxers is hot under his hands, and he traces lazy circles just above the line.

Kaner exhales, stiffening up even further in his arms as Jonny draws a hand up his belly, light and unhurried. Kaner’s abs flex underneath his touch, and Jonny pushes in with his fingertips, just a slight bit of force, and finally Kaner relaxes back against him. Jonny strokes his body, carefully gliding over his ribs, sliding along his arms, pressing in to his strong forearms, along the veins that pop every time they work out. Kaner shudders against him when Jonny drags his nails over his happy trail, bare skin rasping on Jonny’s shirtfront. Jonny pushes his hand lower, down along Kaner’s thigh, just to the outside of his dick. The heat of him comes through the fabric. Jonny can’t help the kiss he lays on the curve of Kaner’s shoulder, lips brushing over velvet skin like a whisper.

“Fuck, Jonny,” Kaner breathes. Jonny hums against the back of his neck and casually drags his fingers over Kaner’s right nipple, calculated to seem like a mistake as he passes that same hand back down over his belly. He does it again, this time slow enough to be deliberate, flicking at the nipple with the edge of his nail. Kaner moans, head dipping back to rest on Jonny’s shoulder. They stay like that for a moment, frozen in stasis and then, letting out a breath, Kaner takes Jonny’s hand, drawing it down his body to press over the hot bulge tenting his shorts. Jonny molds his hand around his dick, the head hot under his palm, and breathes out.

Go big or go home, he thinks.

Jonny spins him in his arms, pushing Kaner back against the bureau. Kaner raises himself up to sit on top of it, wrestling to get Jonny’s trousers open and his own boxers down just low enough to be skin on skin. The sound he makes in the back of his throat Jonny feels low in his gut. Kaner tugs him in, tangling his fingers in Jonny’s short hair as he draws him into another one of those mind-blowing kisses, a needy sound escaping his mouth. Jonny gets a hand between them, wrapping his fist around both their cocks, sliding them together. He keeps getting distracted--distracted from his dick, how is that possible--by Kaner’s wet mouth, his talented obscene tongue. Kaner doesn’t seem to mind, he kisses Jonny deeper, winding his arms tight around his shoulders, as if he would ever attempt to escape. 

It can't last long, not after that amount of foreplay. Although, Jesus, that wasn't even for him. Jonny is frantic, mind revolving in a pleasure-drunk wash, nearly overloaded. He comes first and has to struggle to hold himself up afterwards, to make sure that Kaner gets his. After stuttering to a stop, just to give himself a moment, he refits his hand around Kaner's thick cock. Kaner tears his mouth away, leaning back against the wall to put space between them, like he needs to just focus on Jonny working his dick, anything else would be too much. He curses and grips the edge of the bureau, raises his hips to meet Jonny’s fist as he strokes him firm and measured. He watches Kaner, fascinated by the small ticks in his face every time he does something right. The sounds that come out of his mouth, the ones he bites his lip to hold back are getting Jonny’s dick interested in round two.

Kaner slams his hands back down against the bureau and shoots with a choked hiccuping noise he couldn't hold back. It streaks up the front of Jonny’s dress shirt as well the open placket of his trousers . 

Jonny stares down at it, very real evidence of what they did, dripping down his clothes. That’s his come cooling on Kaner’s belly, running on the dips and divots in his abs.

“I didn’t beg,” Kaner points out, voice full of gravel.

Jonny looks at the mess they’ve made and then up to his face. He grins, slowly. “You would have.”


End file.
